


i could be your home (only for the night, if you want)

by pseudokuwu



Category: Hitman (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Employer-Employee with Benefits, Friends With Benefits, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Or More Like, takes place shortly before the Club 47 mission in Bangkok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 09:48:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29997546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudokuwu/pseuds/pseudokuwu
Summary: They genuinely like each other’s company, which counts for a lot in a world of constant backstabbing and political murder.Still, the guy’s working things even Otis has to avert his eyes from sometimes. Otis likes his boss but it’s not like he’s in love with the guy, and while he’d put himself in front of a bullet for Ken, he’d sooner throw himself under a car than get directly involved with all the shit Ken does for a living.Their current arrangement works just fine. A great working relationship and an appropriate friendliness. The ideal employer-employee relationship with benefits, in Otis’ opinion. Ken’s a good boss to him, so he doesn’t mind playing the patient ear whenever Ken needs it.-Some overtime before Bangkok.
Relationships: Ken Morgan (Hitman)/Otis (Hitman)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	i could be your home (only for the night, if you want)

Ken Morgan is surprisingly quiet when he comes. 

Not that Otis had expected him to be a screamer or anything. It’s just a little disappointing, in a way — he likes his boss’ voice, likes the way he talks, likes the way he laughs and the way he complains and the way his charisma coats everything he says with enough smoothness to charm a starving man out of a buffet. It’s as damn terrifying as it is impressive, so Otis likes being one of the few people who can hear it in all its forms, not just when Ken’s being professional. 

Professionality. Just thinking of it makes Otis want to chuckle, even as he desperately works his four fingers into his boss’ ass, massages his prostate to keep the orgasm flowing like a river. It’s a pretty sight, even if it’s just in Otis’ opinion. The way the lights shine dim gold on his boss’ broad back, glistening with sweat. The swing of his thighs and stomach and arms when Otis thrusts his fingers in hard. It’s almost enough to make Otis blow his load right here, right now; paint the wide expanse of that back, the soft of those asscheeks, make it Otis’ for just a moment.

_Maybe some other time,_ Otis thinks, and slows his fingers down even as he still curves them up. He’s not gonna complain about what he has in front of him. Even without the moaning, there’s plenty to hear — in the way Ken gasps, in the way he curses quiet and hot under his breath while he shoots white ropes onto the sheets, mattress springs groaning under their combined weight and motion. Each filthy, wet sounds whenever Otis fucks his fingers deep into that tightness. Otis can _feel_ his boss’ orgasm more than he can hear it and that’s a hundred times better anyway — the hot clench around Otis’ knuckles, the way he shakes under Otis’ touch, the aftershocks of his orgasm rattling his form like an earthquake, a tectonic shifting of bodies.

Otis pulls his fingers out with a wet _squelch_ before his boss can bitch him out about oversensitivity, and Ken collapses down onto the bed with enough weight to shake the frame, catching his breath. He’s a brick alright; hefty, broad as a barrel, soft fat around a sturdy core, his balding head gleaming a little in the evening light with sweat. His softening cock’s lying flat against the mattress, peeking through his spread thighs and under the pillow of his balls, a single drop of cum running down the shaft.

God. Otis needs to come, right fucking now.

“Sir,” Otis pants, red-faced and unashamed of how desperate he’s feeling, the hand that was just knuckle-deep inside his boss flying to fist his own cock, “Sir, I gotta — Can I —”

Ken’s eyes flash up to him. There’s one hell of a twinkle in his eye for a guy who’d just gotten on his hands on knees for his own bodyguard, near-fisted so good they’ll probably have to burn the sheets. (Otis wonders what it says about himself that he finds that as sexy as he does.) He rolls onto his back, and eyes the way Otis’ hand is a blur over his dick with some mix between smugness and amusement and pure _heat._ When he talks his voice is still a little breathless, and it makes Otis’ hand fly faster.

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Ken says, mouth still tugged into that bemused quirk, and then Otis stops looking at his mouth because Ken’s drawn his legs up to squeeze his thighs together and _oh_ , “Nothing goes in, you understand? You’ve already wrecked enough of my interior for tonight.”

“Sure, sir,” Otis barely grits out as he rushes to situate himself, and then slides his cock in nice and snug between his boss’ thighs and groans like he’s dying.

It’s a little slice of heaven. Otis doesn’t bother being gentle; he grips the meat of Ken’s legs as he fucks his thighs good and hard, still wet and slippery from where Otis had spent almost a solid hour slowly pouring lube down his boss’ crack so he could work his fingers in one by one. It’s hot, both soft and firm, his cock sliding against Ken’s balls with every stroke, the wet, dark head of his dick peeking between the pale of his boss’ thighs with each thrust, each snap of the hips shaking the whole bed frame while Ken just watches him with equal parts amusement and genuine pleasure.

“That’s it,” Ken murmurs, self-satisfied in a way that only he can make sound non-patronizing, “Come on then, Otis.”

Then his thighs squeeze tighter, the bastard, chokes a stupid sounding noise out of Otis’ mouth as Ken’s hands moving up to grip onto the headboard to anchor himself. Otis wants to sink his canines into the rippling meat of Ken’s triceps, but settles for snapping his hips faster, unashamed in chasing his own peak until he finally comes instead with a loud grunt, striping his boss’ wide belly and softening cock with his jizz.

He’s collapsing onto his side on the bed before his dick’s even done twitching. He’s not his boss’ age, but he sure as hell isn’t the young man he used to be either, and he’s wiped for the night. Ken must know it too, judging by the way he doesn’t even bitch at Otis to get up so they can shower and replace the sheets. Otis isn’t complaining. It’s nice every once in a while to just catch their breath after, lie in the afterglow. (Especially with how busy they’ve been lately. The amount of stupid people with too much money on their hands and not enough emotional control surprises Otis to this day, and he’s worked under Ken for a long enough time now that his boss’ clientele shouldn’t make his brows nearly shoot off his forehead.)

He doesn’t even realize he’s almost dozed off until he feels something nudge at his shoulder. Ken’s sitting up when he opens his eyes, holding a water bottle out to him. He takes it gratefully, shifting to lie on his front and prop himself up on his elbows, unscrewing the cap and taking a big swig. His boss only hums, and takes the pack of wet wipes out of the bedside table to wipe the cum and lube and sweat off of himself.

Otis downs half the bottle in one go before screwing it shut again. “Thanks,” he croaks.

“Mm,” Ken hums, and then, “You know, you don’t have to call me _sir_ in bed. I’m not particularly into that style of play, if you catch my drift.”

Otis blinks. “You want me to call you boss instead?”

Ken huffs a laugh. “I have a name, you know. I think you’ve heard it, once or twice.”

“Maybe. Feels weird,” Otis shrugs. It feels weird enough just thinking it in his mind, let alone saying it out loud. “You don’t look like a Ken.”

“Yes, I get that sometimes.” Ken sighs. “Well, we’ll figure something out sooner or later.”

“Alright, darling,” Otis says in a deadpan, and can’t help but smile at Ken’s answering bark of laughter. He eases his head down to the pillow, still lying on his front, and is about to close his eyes when he hears the phone ring.

“Blast it,” Ken curses under his breath. Then the bed dips as he climbs out, holding the phone up to his ear as his tone changes to what Otis likes to call his fixer-voice, “Good evening, Mr Cross. No, you’re not interrupting anything at all. How may I—”

Otis watches as Ken walks over to the other side of the room, pacing as he talks. He makes a stunning sight, the New York City night lights against his skin, dick hanging out between his legs in a way that should be funny but mostly tempts Otis to suck him off in the morning. It’s a nice thought.

It’s almost a shame. Otis does genuinely like his boss. Like, sure, the pay’s great, and it’s nice to get to see the sights and experience some secondhand luxury. But if that’s all there was, Otis wouldn’t be nearly as quick to warm the big guy’s bed, so. Ken’s genuinely a charming man, pleasantly honest around Otis, and never looks down on him like most snobby rich fucks do to their bodyguards. They’ve got a nice, friendly, professional relationship in the daytime, and a pretty solid less professional one at night. They genuinely like each other’s company, which counts for a lot in a world of constant backstabbing and political murder.

Still, the guy’s working things even Otis has to avert his eyes from sometimes. Otis likes his boss but it’s not like he’s in love with the guy, and while he’d put himself in front of a bullet for Ken, he’d sooner throw himself under a car than get directly involved with all the shit Ken does for a living.

Their current arrangement works just fine. A great working relationship and an appropriate friendliness. The ideal employer-employee relationship with benefits, in Otis’ opinion. Ken’s a good boss to him, so he doesn’t mind playing the patient ear whenever Ken needs it.

Which is exactly what Otis does when he hears Ken going “Yes, alright, we’ll leave as soon as possible,” and then the sound of footsteps coming closer. 

“What’s wrong, dear?” Otis asks.

“Unexpected developments,” Ken sighs, looking clearly disappointed. “And right on the eve of the semi-finals too… Ugh. Come on then, pack up, we’re leaving in two hours for Bangkok. I’ll need to call the sitter for Pickles, and see if I can’t get that flight sooner…”

Otis doesn’t reply. Just watches as his boss walks out the door, still muttering to himself, ass-naked, a streak of cum still smeared across his hip, and likely about to go convince the world that some other blood-smeared murdering rich guy’s perfectly innocent.

_Just another day then,_ Otis thinks as he heaves himself out of bed. _Bangkok, huh? Better pack light._

**Author's Note:**

> Broke: writing porn about Jordan Cross because he's an indie rocker prettyboy  
> Woke: writing porn about Ken Morgan bc he's built like a barrel and have you SEEN those shoulders, that charming motherfucker  
> Bespoke: writing porn about Ken Morgan and his bodyguard because of like two lines of banter i overheard during a mission


End file.
